


The Thrill of Flight

by atlasdam



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn-ish, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasdam/pseuds/atlasdam
Summary: These are restless times for Orsterra. Olberic Eisenberg travels north to Atlasdam on behalf of his liege to deliver an urgent message, only to find the kingdom’s royalty missing and its scholars scattered. Now he must safeguard one from the watchful eyes of crows as they journey back to Hornburg, so that his own home might avoid the same ruin.Considering the circumstances, Olberic didn’t expect to fall for odd Cyrus Albright in quite the manner that he did.Semi AU, some mild spoilers.





	1. Chapter 1

_Gods speed, Olberic Eisenberg._

Olberic stood at the crest of a shallow hill, silently repeating to himself his liege’s parting words as the knight had embarked on the long journey to Atlasdam. He was still a quarter-day’s ride away from the gates of the city, but the gentle countryside surrounding it offered no doubt as to the smoke rising from within its walls. 

It seemed he was too late.

The Flatlands’ temperate clime meant the air this late into the year was cool and brisk, stark against the horror quickly taking root in Olberic’s chest. He remounted his horse and spurred it on at a gallop towards Atlasdam’s southern wall, where a small gate rarely used by non-denizens was set. This was far from his first visit, but he dreaded that it might be his last. 

A straggle of people and wagons - poorer commonfolk from their dress - bustled near the gate. One woman hailed Olberic as he approached and dismounted. “Oi, good sir,” she said. “I’m not sure what business ye have with Atlasdam, but ye won’t find it here anymore. There’s been a slaughtering and everyone alive’s fled or fleeing.”

Fears confirmed, Olberic fought to keep his voice strong. “That is precisely why I am here, miss. To address it. Pray tell me, is your king fit for audience?”

The woman shook her head. “Oh, we’ve heard no peep from the royal family, it all just happened so fast yestermorn. The palace in flames, bodies everywhere. None of the shops gone at least, but the shopkeepers can’t stay if we won’t - sir, let me fetch ye a Sister. If ye have to go in, ye’ll need as much of the good Sacred Flame as ye can get.”

Olberic thanked her kindness, impatient but needing information that the Sister was likely better able to provide. The woman disappeared briefly into a throng of people before returning with the promised Sister in tow. She was young and gentle-featured, though there was a certain gravity to her that Olberic immediately appreciated. 

He walked a few paces away from the crowd and held out a hand to her. “Olberic Eisenberg, knight of the kingdom of Hornburg. To whom am I addressing?”

She shook his hand warmly. “I am Sister Ophilia Clement of the Church of Flamesgrace. Word reached us of our neighbor Atlasdam yesterday afternoon and so a number of our members sped here to lend aid and guidance. I am at your service, sir knight.”

Olberic couldn’t help but almost raise his eyebrows. “Sister Ophilia, the Flamesbearer? It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” While she was widely celebrated across Orsterra for her kind nature and her role in the last year’s Kindling, Olberic had not been familiar with the details of her appearance. He supposed he should not have been so surprised. 

Ophilia smiled brightly before her face darkened. “Indeed, and likewise. I have heard much of you. Rochelle told me on our way over that you were inquiring after the royal family. There is not much I can tell you with certainty, sir Olberic, except that the scholars as well as the palace were the target of this evil. And whoever did this, they are gone along with the royalty. As for the scholars…” 

They had walked as they conversed, and Olberic found themselves standing at the southern gates. Ophilia pushed past them, her voice dropping in volume as if dimmed by the silent streets. “I stepped outside the walls to give the party you met my blessings on their journey, and I understand their terror. But near to none of Atlasdam’s citizenry were injured with one exception. The scholars… a great many of them are wounded, and even more dead. It is almost incomprehensible, what has happened.”

From what she could gather, Ophilia informed him, three great and simultaneous explosions had struck Atlasdam yesterday morning. One at the palace, one at the archives, and another at the royal academy. In the following chaos, the perpretators had disappeared with no clue as to their motive. However, considering the effected, and Atlasdam’s reputation for the cultivation and attraction of many of Orsterra’s great minds, it was difficult to construe the attacks as anything but a blow to the city’s heart.

They stopped at a small chapel at the intersection of two narrow streets. The wide pews inside had been converted to makeshift beds which men and women in white flitted among, attending to the occupants. Ophilia took a roll of linen from a passing Brother and began preparing cloth strips from it at a standing table. “Again, I am not certain of how much I will be able to lend to your purpose, sir Olberic. If you were seeking his Highness, it must have been for a very important reason. Though while none of us here are privy to where he is, there may be someone yet able to tell you.” She stalled to request food and water for Olberic, then turned to look at him thoughtfully. “Among the scholars who are still unaccounted for is Princess Mary’s most favored tutor, Professor Cyrus Albright. Or, at least... he is unaccounted to everyone but me.”

Olberic did raise his eyebrows this time. “Is he now?”

“Yes, and I imagine that raised more questions than it answered,” Ophilia smiled. “Professor Albright is a wonderful teacher and an even better man. A few months past, matters at the Church had me inquiring at the Royal Academy here, and before I was aware of it he had adopted me as one of his own students. I owe him a great deal, although he’d hate to hear me say that. He must have been alive and well in the city until very recently. Earlier today, I found this slipped under my room’s door.” 

Olberic accepted the note that Ophilia had evidently been keeping in her long gloves. The parchment was of fine quality, but torn carefully from a larger piece. It read: _My dear girl, I apologize for not greeting you in person. Caught wind of dire news minutes before tragedy. Hid, now must travel to Hornburg even if by foot. Do not worry, do not search, take care._ There was no name signed to it, but the hand was distinctive. 

Ophilia’s face was somber. “I am only telling you this, sir Olberic, because I know you can be entrusted with another’s life and because the professor makes for your own home. Please aid him, as he will surely aid you.”

A few minutes passed as Olberic mulled over her words. He did not doubt her veracity. By all accounts, a direction like this was more than he could have hoped for. The logistics of locating a man on the move, however, presented a challenge. 

“I would like to meet your Professor Albright,” Olberic nodded. “Tell me, do you know if he has any preferred routes I might track him by?”

Ophilia grabbed at one of his hands with delight, almost scattering her pile of linen strips. “Aelfric bless you, sir Olberic. I once told him about a dear friend I have who lives in a small coastal town to the southeast called Rippletide. I pray to the Sacred Flame that he remembers, and that is where he goes. If he has indeed been traveling by foot, you may even catch him before he arrives there.”

Olberic agreed. The next hour was a flurry of activity. He ate, replenished supplies, and gleaned a few more details from the Sister. He would have to watch for a man with dark hair, a few marks under his own age and height. At Rippletide, he would have to locate a provisioner’s store run by a couple with a daughter called Tressa. It was not much to go on, but it would have to be enough.

Ophilia saw him off at the large eastward gate. The sun was higher and the air warmer. As he mounted his horse, she pressed a cloth and stone bracelet into his hand. “A cleric’s charm,” she explained. “Again, it is not much, but it can serve as a ward against darker energies should you need. May the Sacred Flame light your path, sir Olberic.”

He nodded to her, then was off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm not sure why I fixated on this pairing but there we go lol. Things will pick up from here!


	2. Chapter 2

An hour or so before dusk, the clap of thunder and a flash of light behind a nearby outcrop of rock drew Olberic from his thoughts. Leaving his horse to graze by the dirt path, he approached the commotion with sword half-drawn. There was no sign of either monsters or humans, and Olberic would have wondered if his mind weren’t playing tricks on him if it were not for the smell of ozone.

A muffled and annoyed noise drew his attention to a small ditch. The grass around it was coated with a delicate layer of dark dust, a sign of recently slain monsters. He peered into it to see a man lying on his back in mud still wet from yesterday’s showers, hands covering his face in frustration.

Olberic squinted. Dark hair, long-limbed, scholarly attire… 

“Hail, traveler,” he called. “Do you require assistance?”

The man yelped and stared wide-eyed back at him. “Excuse me? Oh, no need, kind sir. I am quite well!” 

He sat up gracelessly and Olberic decided he should offer the other a hand anyways, which the stranger took with a sheepish smile. Despite his clothes being heavy with mud, he was easy to hoist up. 

“You have my gratitude,” the stranger said with a laugh as he patted his clothes and looked up to meet the knight’s eyes. Their heights were about a head’s difference. “A beast caught me unawares and startled me right into that ditch. Hazards of field research!”

Olberic noted with idle approval that the other did not immediately offer his name, but there was no point in stalling. Time was of the essence. If this was Cyrus Albright as Olberic suspected, then the man cast magic adeptly enough to easily dispatch the monsters of the low Flatlands. It explained why the academic had seemed so confident about traveling alone in his note, and partly the clear admiration Ophilia held for him. 

Olberic moved his hand up from the other’s to grip his forearm. “You are Cyrus Albright?” 

He could feel the stranger tense, see his eyes flicker with a myriad thoughts, but the voice was steady. “Who is asking?”

“A friend,” Olberic answered. “Directed to find you by Sister Ophilia.” 

He let go of the other and held up his wrist to show Ophilia’s parting gift. Such charms were usually fashioned by the individual cleric through the cut and color of their materials, their actual power sourced from the words inscribed into the stones. It would be sufficient proof of his word. 

“Ophilia,” Understanding dawned on Cyrus. He hummed proudly. “Miraculous as always. Yes, I am him.”

“That she is.” Olberic took a moment then to assess the other properly. There was, at least, no sign of injury except to his clothes. The satchel slung across his torso would hold supplies for a few days if packed well, enough for a considerable distance. He held a plain wooden stave in one hand as was standard for faculty of the Royal Academy. 

Fashionable but not impractical seemed to describe the professor’s general comport. Given his youth and looks, Olberic thought with some amusement, he certainly had more than a few admirers amongst his students. He hoped Cyrus was not the type of man to take advantage of that. 

Cyrus was observing him, too. His eyes were alight with curiosity, and Olberic could tell the other was struggling to not barrage him with questions. He was not quite in the mood to be interrogated yet, so he gestured to where his horse was waiting. 

“I have a spare cloak for you if you’d like. We should make haste to Rippletide. I will explain to you who I am and what I know as we travel.”

\--

As it turned out, Olberic did not have to introduce himself. After the initial alarm of having a stranger on the road say his name, Cyrus remembered the knight. They never had the occasion to introduce themselves, but he had caught glimpses of Olberic on diplomatic missions to Atlasdam while calling on the palace to tutor Princess Mary and her cousin, Therese. 

“You have no lack of gravitas, Olberic. Any man would be hard-pressed to truly forget someone as stately as you,” Cyrus added cheerfully. Olberic cast him a glance at what seemed to be flirtation, but Cyrus’s tone was so genuinely innocent that it left him slightly confused.

“I will take your word for it.”

Because the spare cloak dragged on the ground when he wore it, Cyrus was seated astride Olberic’s horse as the knight led her on foot. It would break the poor creature to carry both of them, and she seemed glad for the lighter burden anyways. Their progress was not as swift as Olberic would have liked, but perhaps it was for the best. They had much to discuss before Rippletide, where listening ears would be harder to avoid. He cleared his throat.

“I am sorry to see the state of Atlasdam. I was to deliver a message that may have prevented such disaster, had I been swifter. Our informants heard tell of a conspiracy against your king by agents who have made their base in Hornburg. At the time of my departure, we had no further details on them except that they were not one of the common crime rings that plagues every city. Men and women dressed entirely in black, seeking an end I cannot begin to imagine.”

“That end may be the fall of Hornburg,” Cyrus replied solemnly. “I have reason to believe that the true target of these agents was not the royalty, but the archives. Why set their sights on Atlasdam, so far to the north, if it did not hold something essential to their machinations?” 

They moved along a usually populated road emptied by the low rainclouds above. Dark had already fallen when they began to set camp under the outhang of a slope that faced away from the road. Olberic was silent, his thoughts racing too quickly to vocalize. 

Cyrus chanted a spell to start a campfire before continuing. “Before I departed Atlasdam today, I visited the archives one more time. Empty of course, but for its dedicated keeper. She told me someone dressed in black had lured her away from her usual post with a question, and while she was occupied, another must have used a swiped key to access the restricted archives. She was in tears about it, believes the tragedy could have been prevented if not for her brief absence, but kept her wits enough to document the damages. According to her, the only tome missing in its entirety was _From the Far Reaches of Hell_. Hornburgian origin. Have you heard of it?” 

Olberic heaved a troubled sigh from where he was preparing their meal. “Yes. I was not aware it had ended up in Atlasdam. Stolen decades ago from the king’s shelves, supposedly containing forbidden sorcery. And you believe this was what they wanted?”

“Mm-hm. I narrowly evaded death myself last morning. It seems the explosives at the academy were set on the outside wall of my office. I had just returned from a stressful summons from the academy’s headmaster, so I was standing by my window to clear my head, only to overhear whisperings about having acquired something, to reconvene at Hornburg by month’s end. It was so peculiar at the moment that I left the premises to track the voices just far enough to escape harm.”

“And that is why you head south now.” 

They ate in silence. Olberic allowed the hush of the falling rain to calm him. He must be level-headed now more than ever. 

The month’s end was no more than a couple weeks away. Ample time to reach Hornburg if they did not dawdle, but getting there would only be the first step of many. 

“I was sent to speak with your king. In that respect, I utterly failed my own. But I will be damned if I will not do all within my power to prevent him from further harm. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Sir Olberic,” Cyrus beamed. “I would be most reassured if you would.” 

\--

A soft hand shook Olberic awake the next morning. Cyrus had taken second watch. Day was just beginning to break, and Olberic allowed himself a moment to savor the moment. The still light, the birdsong, the chilled grass…

Cyrus pressed a flask of water into his hands. Aside from the flask, a map they had pored over last night, and some food left by the fire, everything else was neatly put away. After so much solitary travel, Olberic had to admit that a companion like Cyrus was a very welcome change.

They struck a pace that would take them to Rippletide by nightfall. Cyrus spent some time shivering on the horse, carefully scraping dried mud from his scholar cloak. When he had deemed it presentable again, he joined Olberic on the ground. 

The day was quiet for the most part, though Cyrus was not shy about commenting on whatever passing flora or fauna or geological formation struck his fancy. Olberic was content to listen with an amiable ear; it was knowledge he would not have sought on his own, but appreciated all the same. A bit past noon, they met a merchant who was able to confirm they were on the correct path. 

The grass gradually thinned, the dirt grew coarser and paler. Soon the ocean was all around them. 

The Coastlands were undeniably beautiful, even if Olberic felt a greater affinity for the Flatlands. They followed the signage across creaking bridges and down worn stairways until they stood on the shoreline. Rippletide was finally visible in the distance, punctuating the dusk with lamplights. He hid a small smile at the relieved sigh from Cyrus. 

Fortunately, the inn was still accepting travelers. Unfortunately, the Merchants’ Fair next week meant all but one of the single-bed rooms were booked as traders scrambled for last minute transactions in the townships near Grandport. Having grown up in soldiers’ barracks, Olberic did not mind the close quarters too much, but he felt it was only polite to offer to sleep on the floor for both of their comfort.

That resolution was dashed soon after the innkeeper ushered them into the room. 

“Hm? Olberic, what are you doing?” Cyrus peered over the edge of the bed at the blanket and pillow the knight had laid on the floor. 

“You have the bed, Cyrus. I’m yet accustomed to sleeping on the ground anyways.” Olberic blinked. Cyrus had just returned from the washroom. Seeing him with his fringe down would take some getting used to.

“Nonsense, my dear friend!” Cyrus scoffed. “Why dismiss a soft mattress on the rare occasions we can have one, especially if it has ample space for the both of us!” 

Olberic was filled with the sudden sense that Cyrus was completely, devastatingly oblivious to the implication of recent strangers sharing a bed. The longer he hesitated to answer, the more unsure Cyrus’s expression grew.

“We… are friends, are we not?”

Oh. It was going to be a difficult night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've defeated the exposition! This could be a longer story but I'm hoping to keep things fast-paced. Thanks for sticking around bbbb
> 
> (Also, Hornburg -> Hornsburg in the first chapter - oops!)


	3. Chapter 3

Olberic blinked awake to a noseful of soap-scented hair and puffs of breath against his collarbone.

Falling asleep on the bed with the scholar did not take him long despite his initial reservations. He had turned his back to maintain a cordial distance, which helped. A bed after so long _was_ pleasant. But now jolted back to full possession of his faculties, he realized that during the night they had migrated into a tangle of limbs. 

Olberic did not consider himself a religious man, but he found himself praying to any listening god to not let his movement or the sudden thundering of his heart wake Cyrus as he carefully extracted himself from what felt like an ambush. 

Successful, he pulled the blanket that had been kicked on the ground around Cyrus’s shoulders and fled to the washroom.

\--

Cyrus waved cheerfully at him from a table when Olberic returned to the inn later that morning. He had styled his hair and dressed in the time it took for the knight to take a walk. A few merchants loitered in the commons area looking hungover. Olberic made his way around them to a waiting plate of fruit and bread.

“It is good to see you again, friend,” Cyrus chirped. “You are quite the morning bird!”

“I am a light sleeper,” Olberic said, eyeing the food and coffee. “May I?”

“All yours,” Cyrus assured him before turning to a thin pamphlet that looked like an inventory list. “It might be worth visiting the fish market rather than the provisioner’s store. I am told that it deals in more than just fish, and that we would have a better chance of finding Tressa Colzione there than in the town proper.”

“Would we still need to see her?” 

“It could be worthwhile if we have the time to spare. She is quite the local celebrity and has connections with the captain of a famed merchant ship. If she vouches for us and we offer labor as payment for passage, it may shave days from our journey.” Cyrus winked. “Besides, Alephan only knows when I will see Ophilia next, and I would like to thank her for bringing us together.”

\--

The market was chaos. There was so much clamor that Olberic couldn’t hear himself think, opting to trail after Cyrus as the other flitted from vendor to vendor. The investigation led them to a quieter section of the port where Tressa was supposedly finalizing the wares she would hawk at the Merchants’ Fair.

The strike came without warning. Cyrus turned his back to a pile of crates from where a hidden figure lunged at him with a blade. 

Olberic lashed out reflexively with a hand, landing a blow across the assailant’s face as they pushed past him towards the scholar. The knife clattered to the floor as the other staggered some feet away, but before he could glimpse any of their features, they were gone. He tensed to give chase, except - 

“What’s this..?” Cyrus said in a small voice, eyes wide with shock, before he collapsed sideways onto the cobble.

Someone nearby shouted for help and a crowd quickly formed around them. Worried whispers filled the air. Olberic kneeled and turned Cyrus onto his back to more easily carry him; the knight could hear none of the townspeople’s offers of help in his growing panic until an angry voice barked out through the noise. 

“Move, people! Let the apothecary through!” 

A firm hand gripped Olberic’s shoulder. A young sandy-haired man in green garb faced him. “My name is Alfyn. I’m an apothecary. Your friend is safe to move, but it’s best to start treatment quickly. Follow me!”

\--

The blade had only caught Cyrus’s right arm but it had been coated with powerful sedative, according to Alfyn. Swift-acting but nonlethal at effective doses, the substance was typically favored by human traffickers, bounty hunters, and kidnappers.

“I won’t pry into who y’guys pissed off,” Alfyn said as he deftly worked together a mixture of glass-seed and perilla, “but they wanted him alive more than dead. Usually takes hours to recover from, but I’ll make something that’ll encourage things along.” 

Olberic leaned back in his chair, Cyrus’s cloak gripped in one hand. They were in a cozy room generously volunteered by one of the stall vendors who had witnessed the attack, and from his seat he could see the street they had just been on. 

He was furious at himself for his carelessness, for allowing himself to be distracted into a foolish sense of relative security. With how extensive this mysterious entity’s operations were, of course it would have agents planted in every settlement between Atlasdam and Hornburg. And now it was doubtlessly alerted to the fact that a professor of the Royal Academy was traveling south with none other than King Alfred’s right-hand knight. 

This likely meant that he and Cyrus no longer had until the month’s end to reach Hornburg and that future attacks on them were inevitable. Travel by sea was also no longer a desirable option: the geography of the coastlines near Hornburg were infamously hostile to ships, funneling most seabound activity through a single cramped port. They might as well hand themselves to the enemy. It would be best to ask Tressa for a second horse instead. He carried more than enough leaves to pay for a healthy one.

And then there was the question of why the assailant had made no attempt on him when he had been the more open target - but somebody rapped impatiently on the door, and Olberic put the thought aside for the moment.

“Door’s unlocked, Therion,” Alfyn called. 

The door swung open to a small brown-haired girl with a bag in her arms and a light-haired man standing behind her.

“Tressa’s here too,” the man said. Olberic recognized his voice as the one that had cleared the way for Alfyn to reach them.

“Life olive essence!” Tressa announced, pulling out a glass bottle which Alfyn took gratefully.

“Fantastic, thanks. We just gotta soak this cloth and hold it to the cut - sir, if y’could? - and mist the rest. Won’t smell as good as perfume, but it’s a lot better for you.” 

Olberic gently took Cyrus’s right arm from under the blanket that was drawn to his chest to preserve his modesty and laid the wet cloth over the wound. It looked less grave after cleaned of blood. 

“Thank you, Alfyn,” Olberic said quietly, reluctant to look away from Cyrus’s unconscious face. Guilt ate at him. He heard Alfyn stand and begin to pack away his supplies. “How may we repay your services?”

Therion snorted from where he had commandeered Alfyn’s chair. “Idiot won’t take your money, but I’m not opposed to trading you information for lunch. Dinner too, if you’re feeling generous.”

“Information? By all means.” 

“Yeah, miss attacker didn’t go very far. You knocked her dizzy. She dragged herself into an alley where two of her friends were waiting, dressed in black just like her. I couldn’t get close enough to hear everything but I could tell they were talking about you two. One of them left to help track down the Atlasdam royalty and the other is going by boat to Hornburg.” Therion’s mouth twisted in solemn amusement. “You’re caught up in something complicated, huh?”

It was as Olberic suspected, but it was somewhat of a relief to have his thoughts confirmed. He was not fond of uncertainty. Atlasdam’s royalty, Cyrus had told him, they could do little for. The family was not in the palace when it had blown up - whether as intended, it did little good to speculate. At any rate, Olberic knew their personal guards were competent and it seemed the measures in place to evacuate the family in times of crises were functioning well. 

He had to focus on his own kingdom. Its safety depended on his ability to keep Cyrus by his side.

\--

Tressa was all too enthusiastic about helping out. When Olberic inquired about a horse, she provided a young stallion with fully provisioned saddlebags and only charged a horseshoe’s worth ‘for the records.’

“I’m not exactly hurting for money,” she laughed brightly. “And as great as it is, what we love is more important.”

Her knowing wink after that line made Olberic feel like he was missing out on a joke. But she seemed like a nice girl, so he didn’t press.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
> Hornburg was spelled right the first time lol! Previous chapters fixed.  
> Same-sex couples aren't considered any differently in this Orsterra, so there will be no gay angst in the story.  
> Perilla leaves aren’t curative in our universe but they taste pretty good with seasoning! If only irl medicine was as edible as Alfyn’s...  
> This is largely the same universe as in the game, except everyone but Cyrus and Olberic have wrapped up their adventures (also Olberic is a little less broody because Hornburg never fell). I’m aiming to keep things as spoiler-free as possible, but things that were in the 3 hour demo will be considered fair game!


	4. Chapter 4

Alfyn and Therion would accompany them for a stretch. The two had only stopped in Rippletide because while Alfyn preferred to collect his ingredients at their source, he liked to go to Tressa for everything else when possible. The three had journeyed together before and remained fast friends.

Now the apothecary had set his sights on a small mountain village which, as Therion informed Olberic, only had a reputation for its potatoes and being bullied by bandits. Cobbleston, it was called. The name felt faintly familiar to Olberic, but that was nothing odd. Hornburg bordered the far end of the same mountainous region. 

Cyrus stirred soon after the lunch Olberic had promised Therion (and by extension, Alfyn). He was silent for a few minutes as if still half-asleep. Olberic took the opportunity to sit him up and fetch him a glass of water, waking the scholar enough for him to thank the knight. Cyrus winced as he tried to reach with his right hand and looked mildly alarmed to see his arm dressed in bandages.

It did not take long for Olberic to explain what had happened, the change of plans. They walked back to the inn and gathered their supplies as he spoke. Neither felt a sense of being watched but knew it would be a short-lived luxury.

Cyrus was very open to the prospect of additional companions. That amenability multiplied when he learned Alfyn was an apothecary while on their way out of Rippletide. Their polite introductions quickly morphed into a lopsided discussion where Alfyn listened raptly to Cyrus excitedly informing him on a treatise recently published by an eminent mind on accessibility of medicine in the present day, why traveling apothecaries had become such prominent fixtures in the current medical ecosystem because you see…

Therion whistled. “Wow. Cyrus was knocked so flat, I wouldn’t have guessed he goes around talking people’s ears off.”

Olberic hummed, not one to deny the truth. Cyrus and Alfyn rode slightly ahead of them. He tried not to remember the image of his calloused hands against the slope of Cyrus’s bare shoulders. It was good to see his friend well again.

\--

The road they chose would have them part ways in two days’ time. It took until that night, when they were settled around a low-burning fire, for Cyrus to convince Alfyn into letting him peruse the apothecary’s notebook. Therion hovered nearby as Alfyn handed it over, but his wariness vanished at the reverent way Cyrus turned its worn pages.

“You know, Alfyn, I would be more than willing to leverage my connections to have your knowledge formally published,” Cyrus said. 

“Aw, shucks!” Alfyn chortled. “Never woulda thought my name could be on a book cover. Maybe one day, Prof.”

“My doors are always open to you, friend.” Cyrus paused. “...When I get them back, that is.”

Watch shifts were much easier with four people. Olberic volunteered himself for the first one as he liked to do. His men back in Hornburg admired his initiative in these matters, but Olberic secretly enjoyed having the uninterrupted sleep afterwards.

He sat a couple meters from the fire. They had made good progress, but the ocean was still visible from their camp. It glinted and shifted like a sleeping scaled beast. Moving yet immovable, easing the dark with its luminescence. 

\--

When Olberic went to wake Therion for the next shift, he was unsurprised to see the other nestled with Alfyn under the same sheets. Olberic did not think it was within his right to ask outright their relationship, but he would have to be a blind man to not see their shared touches and glances for what they were.

A blind man, or possibly Cyrus. Olberic thought wryly of their own night in Rippletide, the welcome warmth of another body when he was still sleep-addled. He had not been able to take another to bed for nearing a year because of his duties, which could be causing his wandering thoughts. He could not tell. 

From where he lay, he saw Therion place a lazy kiss on the side of Alfyn’s neck before getting up. Therion had disclosed the least details about himself of the four (approximately none besides his name, age, and relation with Tressa), and normally that would have Olberic mistrust him. But, his sleepy thoughts went, any soul so clearly entwined with that of Alfyn’s could not be a bad one…

\--

He recognized the weightless feeling of being in a dream. When Alfyn woke him hours later, Olberic could not remember anything from it except the sound of sobbing and a foreboding room with walls that were colored by wavering red light.

From his experience, not all bad dreams were omens - but it was safest to treat them as if they were. 

They moved hurriedly that day as if the rest sensed Olberic’s agitation. The few groups of monsters that accosted them were nuisances more than threats. Olberic did not even have to dismount for one, as Cyrus raised his stave to engulf it in flames. 

Cyrus seemed more pensive too. “I am unsure if perhaps the mountains act as a natural conduit for magical energy, but the air becomes heavier with it as we progress more south. Whatever the reason, it is not a phenomenom I’ve read about.”

Olberic estimated they were about five days to a week from Hornburg. And despite the purpose of their travel, the urgency of their message, drawing closer to home filled him with an inexplicable dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may slow down, but hopefully chapters will get longer to match! Thank you for reading as always!


	5. Chapter 5

Olberic rather liked the roads less taken when it came to mountains. For the quiet, yes, and for their honesty as well. It was not land that made false promises of easy lives - but for the determined, there was still soil for tilling, plateaus to build homes on, paths that could be carved into the mountainsides. And nowhere else in Orsterra was the air or water as sweet. 

The sense of dread lingered, but a mental exercise that Erhardt had once taught him served to quell it as they climbed higher. At least with how the rock faces amplified sound and the speed at which they moved, it would be difficult for anyone to follow them undetected.

The four of them made a final camp a small distance from the fork in the road between Cobbleston and Hornburg. The area had little vegetation for the horses so Olberic ambled away from the campfire to tend to them.

He almost dropped the bag of feed when he turned to see Cyrus standing right behind him, hand halfway to tapping Olberic on the back. He could move near silently for someone wearing heeled boots.

Cyrus bit his lip, a rare show of hesitance. “Pardon me, Olberic, but I would like to consult you on this. Alfyn and Therion… they are romantically involved, yes?”

“I believe so,” Olberic replied. If he were a less stubborn man, he would have admitted to himself that Cyrus’s confusion was endearing, if a little stressful. 

“Oh. Then...” Cyrus was looking towards where their bedrolls were laid out identically to last night. Perhaps Alfyn had left with a kiss as Therion did upon getting up for watch, when Cyrus woke the apothecary. Olberic suspected that anything less obvious would not have led to this current revelation. 

“I am realizing this rather belatedly, but was I perhaps too forward in suggesting we slept together back in Rippletide?” Cyrus did not notice the double entendre in his growing embarrassment. “If so, I sincerely apologize. I truly did not mean anything untoward by it, Olberic.” 

Olberic blinked in surprise. The corners of his lips tugged up against his behest. “I know you did not, Cyrus. There is no need for apology. For what it’s worth, it was the most restful sleep I’d managed in weeks.” _And should you ask again, I’m afraid I would not refuse._

Cyrus looked so contrite that Olberic could not resist an attempt at levity by ending with a small wink. He meant it in the same cheerful spirit the scholar had over breakfast in Rippletide, hoping the action would reinforce his words, and did not foresee Cyrus blushing deeper in return.

\--

Farewells the next morning were short but heartfelt. Alfyn gifted a few potions and urged them to dress more warmly as soon as possible. Therion was, unexpectedly, the one to promise a reunion. He mouthed an amused _good luck_ at Olberic as he turned down the path to Cobbleston and the knight realized that while Alfyn was tending to the fire, Therion had very likely been eavesdropping.

Cyrus was deep in thought that morning, surrounded by an odd energy that Olberic was not sure how to remedy. The path had turned into a downward incline that would eventually wind through a wooded valley when the scholar finally broke the silence. 

“Olberic?”

“Hm?”

“I apologize again for dwelling on past blunders, but I feel compelled to tell you... When a close colleague of mine resigned from her post at the academy years ago, she left me a letter - a warning, really - that I often fail to comprehend how my actions are perceived. I'm afraid I still do not quite understand what she means, but her words should have been better heeded. That is to say, you are already incredibly dear to me and I seem to have an established history of stepping on toes, so should you ever find me too overbearing I welcome any correction.” 

He spoke with an earnestness to make things right despite having little idea of either the offense or what forgiveness would entail. Olberic was keenly aware of his soft spot for anyone eager to prove themselves. Cyrus might as well have struck that weakness with a firestorm.

And that Olberic was important to Cyrus should be nothing unusual when their journey was a flight from one end of the continent to the other with only each other to depend on. Still, the thrill at those words insisted on making itself known. 

Olberic wanted to hold Cyrus’s hands as he replied. _Only in reassurance_ , his conscience reminded him, _and not because you want to re-live how they felt in yours when you first met him_. “Cyrus, you have nothing to fear with me. True, we are facing dire circumstances and I would be lying if I denied ever being perplexed by you. But I enjoy your company as I have rarely enjoyed another’s, and I cannot imagine anything you do will change that.”

An interesting range of emotions flitted across Cyrus’s face before it settled on relieved delight.

\--

They spent the next several hours in quiet, relaxed chatter. The trees and brush around them were too sparse for ambush, but Olberic remained vigilant as they talked. Now even he was able to detect the strange weight to the air that Cyrus had mentioned yesterday.

Among many other things, Olberic learned that Cyrus taught history but was a fervent reader of any publications he could obtain regardless of field. His office was decorated with gifts from his students, all of whom were unbelievably bright and eager (Olberic refrained from commenting that an eagerness to please the teacher did not always equate to a passion for learning). He had been petitioning the headmaster to adjust the qualifications of admission so that the academy could better serve the general populace. His efforts had borne no fruit yet. Headmaster Yvon was the first person Olberic saw Cyrus openly express distaste for. 

Cyrus also touched on many of his colleagues. He was the youngest amongst them and knew each of their accomplishments as well as their vices - but he quickly sobered on the topic, having little idea of who might still be alive on his eventual return to Atlasdam. 

For his part, Olberic told Cyrus stories from his life. He was born to a family of modest means and joined Hornburg’s military to provide for his parents, as many boys of his background did. His swift rise to King Alfred’s side at the age of twenty-four came with an abundance of tense situations, the worst of which was an almost-war eight years ago that Hornburg was barely able to suppress. He also recounted many of his lighter mishaps to Cyrus, most of which occurred when he was much younger and his brother-in-arms, Erhardt, was not there to be a second opinion. Now he was happy to be the guiding hand for the men under his charge. 

Cyrus naturally latched onto Olberic’s work as a mentor. Olberic made to offer him fencing lessons when there was a sudden, violent noise not unlike the barrage of cannonfire - one he could tell was a rockfall. It was distant so it did not worry him. But Cyrus, having no such point of reference, jumped hard enough in his saddle to kick his horse into a gallop.

Olberic immediately urged his horse to keep pace. Instead of slowing, Cyrus let out a breathless laugh. They ran together for some distance before the path narrowed too much for them to stay side-by-side and forced them to slow. 

By then, the sun was low. It was darker under the trees, but the sky was still visible. They were almost out of the valley. 

Olberic had traveled this route once years ago, but he did not remember seeing the house ahead of them. Building materials were stacked against one wall where the framework for a new room was still exposed, but the portion of it that was completed was of sturdy construction.

Cyrus hummed. They shared a glance, debating on whether to approach it for that night’s shelter, when the door swung open to reveal a woman with cascading brown hair. Her voice was equal parts steely and sultry, both qualities at odds with her comfortable orange sundress. 

“Hello, boys. You are?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some location names mentioned in the next few chapters will be late-game, but nothing wrt their story relevance!


	6. Chapter 6

“How much more can you tell me?”

“I’m afraid not much else, my lady,” Cyrus said, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. 

“Just Primrose is fine. You know that.” She sat back, deep in thought.

Cyrus had made a noise of recognition when Primrose Azelhart appeared in the doorway. She looked shocked for all of a second before ushering them inside. Olberic was not sure whether to be impressed at how absurdly well-connected Cyrus seemed to be, or worried at how that gave their enemy more leads to track them by. 

The room they were in was clean and big enough to sit at a comfortable distance from the fireplace. Some type of meat stew cooked in a lidded pot over the fire. A fourth mug of tea was set on the hearth to keep warm. 

Primrose was tense. “This mysterious group of yours. The way they operate, the way they dress… I’ve spent a great deal of my life dealing with them. I _thought_ I was done dealing with them. What could they want now?” 

“Precisely the question,” Cyrus said. “And I wonder especially how _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ figures into their designs. Olberic tells me that it is forbidden sorcery. It’s likely written in an old script that few today could decipher, even within Hornburg.” 

“Powerful knowledge in the wrong hands, as you’d put it,” hummed Primrose. She visibly recomposed herself. “Still, I’m glad to see you’re hale as ever, Cyrus. Have I ever introduced you to H’aanit? She’ll be back soon. We can talk more over dinner.”

“Thank you for having us, my dear,” Cyrus beamed. For whatever reason Olberic could only guess at, Cyrus decided to lay a hand over one of his own as he thanked Primrose. Only then did he notice they had been sitting close enough together to be touching shoulders.

\--

Olberic tried to make himself useful while Cyrus finished bathing. More food had to be prepared now that there were guests for the table. He did not often cook, but he knew enough to help.

Primrose had him fetch and prepare vegetables from a well-stocked pantry while she put together the dishes. He was almost done with a head of lettuce when she spoke to him. 

“You’re on quite the mission.”

“Yes,” Olberic replied a little warily.

Primrose smiled at him - it was more playful than cold, but it was not like Tressa’s either. “You are familiar with my name but not my relation to Cyrus. My father conducted a good amount of his research in Atlasdam. It is not far from my parents’ home, so I went there early last year to retrace what was left of his steps.” 

She laughed softly. “I was not there as an Azelhart so I tried to seduce my way into the academy. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I did get in, but because the man I picked out was Cyrus and he would let a direwolf into the halls if he thought it willing to learn tricks. I stayed in Atlasdam for a while, admitted to my identity in the end. I didn’t learn much about my father, but I found a friend from trying.” 

Olberic looked up from his growing pile of vegetables when Primrose paused. Her gaze was intense.

“That leads me to believe I can trust you too. You seem like a man of honor, Olberic. Is there truly nothing else you can tell me?”

Primrose turned the ebb and flow of conversation so easily. He knew it was a skill honed by necessity, just as many of his own were. With another stranger, Olberic would have dismissed the question - but an enemy of the enemy was a friend, and his instincts saw no reason to hide anything from her, besides. He set down the paring knife. 

“Nothing but suspicions. Based in Hornburg as they are, our foe should be familiar with me. Yet in Rippletide, I was ignored in favor of attempting to kidnap a scholar who had never traveled further south than the Coastlands. And I have wondered at the circumstances of Cyrus’s escape. Whispers under his office window that drew him out just enough to avoid harm? The more I think on who we are against, the less I believe them prone to such clumsiness - unless it was deliberate. But that only raises more questions.” 

Primrose looked at him with approval. “Indeed. Tell Cyrus what you think, if you have not already. He likely has come to the same conclusion that for whatever reason, he is wanted alive. That you may end up playing into their hands. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you these people are not to be underestimated.”

“Of course,” Olberic said, and resumed his work. Only a few carrots left. 

They fell into an easy, brief silence which Primrose interrupted with another smile. This one was distinctly Tressa-esque. 

“There’s something else I'm interested in. About the way you two look at-”

“Primrose?” 

Olberic and Primrose both jumped guiltily. Cyrus stood in the washroom’s doorway, set in the far side of the room. He was dressed lightly and a towel was draped over his head. 

“Pardon me. Do you mind me borrowing your hairbrush?”

\--

Olberic took his own bath and redressed sans armor. He moved to restyle his hair as he disliked having it in his face, but decided that would be impractical considering the late time. When he left the washroom, he saw a tall, wild-haired woman had joined them. A soft-coated leopard was curled behind her chair.

“Olberic,” Primrose waved him over. “This is my partner, H’aanit, and her companion, Linde.”

“Pleased.” H’aanit rose to close his hand in a firm shake. “Thou art not so far from home now. We welcomen thee.”

As a S’warkii native, she was far from her own home. Olberic recognized the village’s influences in the house’s architecture now. 

With H’aanit back from scouting (“best to heeden the land when the air becometh strange”), Primrose seemed to have a brighter and livelier energy. Their chatter during dinner was warm and lighthearted. H'aanit was an impressive storyteller despite her no-nonsense appearance. 

During a lull in conversation, Olberic saw Cyrus's plate was only half-eaten. “Not hungry?” 

“Ah.” Cyrus gave an apologetic smile. “The fare is excellent. I was just thinking it must be a rare sight to see you relaxed, Olberic.”

Ah. “Perhaps not a vision I should be encouraging, given our circumstance.” 

The smile turned into a grin. “No, I suppose not. I do look forward to the day we can enjoy each other’s company in full. It is not too far, I hope.”

H’aanit coughed politely into her hand. Primrose's eyes shone with what seemed like amusement.

\--

To both his and Cyrus’s protests, Primrose insisted they take the lone bedroom. “It’s been a long day for you two. H’aanit and I keep odd hours, and we prefer to sleep near the fire this time of year anyways. We’ll all rest better this way.”

She closed the door behind her. Olberic cleared his throat and turned to inspect the room. 

A single wide bed, as he expected. A nightstand with a candle and a bowl full of wildflowers stood to its left. Long curtains were drawn across the only window, woven finely enough to filter in light while muting the shapes of the valley outside. He could hear the low murmur of H’aanit and Primrose talking by the fireplace, though their words were indistinct. 

Cyrus was silent as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Olberic knew the other’s caution came from a desire to avoid repeating an imagined mistake, and it did not sit well with him. Perhaps the urge to dispel that caution was what drove Olberic to bring Cyrus into his arms so that they lay facing each other, just like what he had woken to mornings ago. Perhaps it was just a selfish impulse.

Olberic could feel Cyrus relax with the minutes, his breathing eventually slow into something half-awake. Cyrus had seemed unusually tired during dinner; the lack of reaction to Olberic's sudden decision both concerned and relieved him. A hand shifted up to rest against Olberic’s ribs. 

Olberic worried for his liege, his people. He was well-acquainted with fear borne out of love, but he had never before felt it so achingly that it left him feeling vulnerable instead of empowered in his duties as a protector of his realm. Holding Cyrus grounded him, somehow. He savored having the soap-scented hair and quiet breaths to himself again. Even better that this brought a measure of comfort to both of them. 

He wondered what Cyrus was thinking about. His work, his future, his beloved students? Did he think about Olberic? He could no longer deny a physical attraction to Cyrus or a deep affection for his character. But... even in times of peace, he lacked the time to indulge in fantasies. Even should miracles happen, their homelands were so far apart…

Olberic was glad he did not dream that night. Good or bad, it would not have helped his peace of mind.

\--

H’aanit and Linde saw them off at dawn. Primrose was still asleep in a nest of blankets by the empty fireplace.

“If thou canst, stayen clear of Everhold’s limits,” H’aanit advised as she patted their horses goodbye. “It bodeth ill. Primrose and I shalle departen for Hornburg within the week. Good fortune.”

“Our deepest gratitude,” Olberic replied as he spurred his mount forward. “May we meet again soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count decided. We're near the end! Primrose and H'aanit have a whole lot of backstory that I couldn't fit into the chapter. Even when this fic is done, I might not quite be done with the AU!


	7. Chapter 7

Frost did not form yet at this elevation, but their breaths exhaled as clouds from the cold. Aside from the songbirds, the world was yet to awaken. 

They were less than a mile into the day when Cyrus cleared his throat quietly. “Olberic?”

“Yes, Cyrus.”

“I rested well last night. Better than well, actually. Thank you.” He turned to look at the knight. “And I must ask you if… am I reading us correctly? Or at least, not incorrectly?” 

Olberic kept his eyes ahead. Weak as the morning light was, Cyrus was as striking as ever. “I… forgive me. I crossed a line last night that you have been mindful of keeping-”

“On the contrary!” Cyrus laughed. “You will have to forgive _me_ again. Not so long ago I thought I had lost the chance to be as friends with you and now, well. I much prefer this turn, even if it seems to defy a label.”

An impractical hope seized Olberic and words began to form unbidden in his head. He would take the leap. “That it does. Though secretly, I _have_ been occupied with how - after we have seen this mission through - I would very much like to pursue something further with you. In friendship, and... even in courtship.”

Cyrus made a noise of genuine surprise. He shifted in his saddle to meet Olberic's eyes more comfortably. “...I would like that too, Olberic. It will be rather new territory for me, but I trust you are a patient guide.”

A radiant warmth settled deep in Olberic's chest and a smile crept upon him, one which Cyrus returned with full force. His anxieties of last night lingered, but they no longer seemed to cast such harsh shadows. 

The morning passed without event after that. Olberic spent much of it answering Cyrus’s questions about Hornburg to the best of his knowledge. Its modern history, military strategy, and diplomacy he was well-versed in, and not so much in details about its magical institutions, especially as linked to its religious customs. On that front, he could not offer much to Cyrus, who (to Olberic's amusement) had apparently interrogated every notable scholar from Hornburg who had stepped foot in Atlasdam over the last several years. 

Around noon, Olberic ventured a question of his own. “I’m glad to see you are yourself today. Were you feeling unwell last night?”

Cyrus hummed. “Hard to say. Though it shames me to admit, I considered abandoning this journey. I should not be alive right now. Curiosity urges me on, but caution advises me to reflect on the wisdom of delivering ourselves to the enemy when they clearly have need for us in their designs against Hornburg. Yet if I should attempt to flee, they will pursue, and if they are the vindictive sort… well, it takes but a moment of anger to light a match, as the saying goes.” 

His thoughtful frown shifted into a harder one. "I assure you I am not often given to such pessimism. It takes an incredible arrogance to believe any scheme, no matter how grand, was worth depriving Orsterra of the lives and the knowledge that was lost in Atlasdam last week. We have no choice but to confront this foe, and do so with confidence.”

“Well said,” Olberic grinned. 

\--

Their path would soon join onto a major mountain roadway. A band of ratkins approached from a low slope to their left, shrieking as they ran to engage in battle. A firestorm from Cyrus sent most of them cowering while Olberic made short work of the braver ones. 

As he sheathed his sword, he was reminded of wanting to offer Cyrus fencing lessons. The problem was that his weapons, adjusted for his height and strength, would be ill-suited for practice. The stave Cyrus carried could serve well as a club, however. 

He brought up his idea when they stopped for the night. Cyrus was, of course, eager to receive pointers. Olberic demonstrated a swing, then had the scholar imitate him.

 _Lower your grip. Lead with your hips. Keep your wrists stiff and shoulders square._ Olberic tried to keep his touches light as he made adjustments to Cyrus’s stance between swings, but both of them were blushing by the end of the lesson. He had, perhaps, not thought this suggestion through.

Any regrets were quickly forgotten when Cyrus slipped his hand into Olberic's larger one and squeezed it in gratitude.

\--

It felt like they were the only two people left in Orsterra.

Everhold, as remote as it was, usually attracted a decent amount of traffic. Yet the roadway remained deserted by both humans and beasts. The air took on a smell that was not quite like fire smoke but was otherwise difficult to describe. 

Olberic and Cyrus opted to travel in silence that day, their eyes fixed on the mountain peak that held Everhold on its opposite face and marked the western border of Hornburg’s territory. They had made good time. From there, it would just be a day’s journey to the city-state’s heart. 

There was a shallow cave at the base of the mountain to shelter in. H’aanit’s warning in mind, they opted for a lantern instead of a fire so that they could not be tracked by smoke this close to enemy range. 

At the end of his watch, Olberic hesitated before waking Cyrus. He had dreamed the same nightmare of someone sobbing in a red room last night, and knew with certainty it would return this night as well. 

He need not have worried about sleep that night, as a gust of frigid air wrenched him awake. Olberic heard the creaking of ice straining under its own weight and a low stream of curses from a voice that he didn’t recognize.

“Olberic,” Cyrus said as he appeared from the dark, out of breath. “Do you carry rope?”

He did not, but his spare cloak would do. Cyrus set down the lantern next to Olberic and helped rip several lengths of cloth to bind the man who had almost struggled out from the ice he was entrapped in.

“Was he alone?” Olberic asked, drawing his sword.

“No, we must leave-”

Another cloaked figure appeared, holding forth a large dark soulstone. Olberic threw himself in front of Cyrus. Ophilia’s charm deflected the brunt of the attack - but in the precious seconds that their vision was obscured, the figure had pushed them aside to cut his partner free. 

Once back on his feet, he drew a sword and rushed at Cyrus, who deflected the swing with his stave. Olberic caught the man’s waist with his blade as he stumbled back, then pivoted on his heel to strike at the other attacker as he fled into the dark. Olberic saw the flash of a dagger. A spear would be better suited for fighting him, but Olberic's was far out of reach. 

The horses were whinnying in distress. The swordsman lurched to stand before them. Cyrus moved to hit him with an element but hesitated, as this would likely kill the animals - and the hesitation was all it took. 

The swordsman stomped on their lantern and plunged the site into darkness. Olberic felt a dagger score across his face. It did not cut deep, but within moments he felt himself fall to his hands and his consciousness began to ebb. The blade had been coated with the sedative from Rippletide. 

Olberic could dimly hear Cyrus cry his name, the sounds of struggle before the scholar’s voice was muffled through a layer of cloth, before he slipped away.

\--

When Olberic regained consciousness, he did not open his eyes right away.

The sounds and the sway of the floor told him he was being transported by carriage. He was propped up on a bench. He felt iron fetters around his wrists and ankles. He could not tell what time of day it was, but they were traveling across a cobbled street behind another carriage. There was someone else sitting across from him, but it wasn’t Cyrus.

Olberic opened his eyes then. He would not find out anything else by feigning. 

The man across from him had thin blond hair and an air of exhaustion that made him seem sickly under his dark clothes. Wounds on his hip and left thigh were dressed in bandages - where Olberic had struck the dagger-wielder in the fight. He had been watching Olberic, though he did not seem to have much of a choice in subject when the windows were shuttered closed. 

“The Unbending Blade wakes,” he rasped. “Always wanted to meet y’in person.” 

Olberic did not respond. 

“Y’were out a day and half. Hoped it would take longer.” The other man shrugged. “Sorry ‘bout all that. Job’s a job.” 

He paused, then unshuttered the windows. “Don’t tell my boss I did this, but…” 

Olberic looked. They were in Hornburg. It looked like it always did in the daytime except the streets were empty, as if its population had stepped away for a minute to attend to a stranger at the door and never came back. 

“All asleep, they are,” the man said. “I'm Saul. Suppose the least I can do is give ye a name to curse at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note down here just in case - I’ve added a tag for violence in the next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

When the carriages rolled to a halt, Olberic could tell they were stopped in front of Hornburg’s palace. He heard the creaking and shuffling of three people exiting the carriage in front, but Saul made no move to follow them. 

Olberic closed his eyes and counted twelve long minutes before a tall woman unlocked their door from the outside. He recognized the key loop in her hand; it was taken from the palace’s dungeon keeper.

Before either captor could react, he disembarked the carriage and bashed the woman with his head as he grabbed the key loop from her. She collapsed wordlessly, clutching at her bloody face. Saul’s injury slowed him just enough for Olberic to free one of his ankles from the fetters a scant meter from the carriage. 

“Get’m, idiot!” Saul yelled at the driver. Olberic glimpsed a young, frightened face as he ran towards the castle entrance. The carriages seemed to be taken from Everhold, which explained the lack of restraints typical to the ones used in Hornburg for prisoner transport. Otherwise, he would not have attempted escape this early. 

He veered sharply onto a path that led through the gardens instead of entering through the main entrance. Olberic had pieced together enough implications over the last days to have a direction: he would head first for a chamber under the throne room that was reserved for monarch-sanctioned research by Hornburg’s foremost scholars. He had been there a handful of times before, and the centuries of accumulated magical energy were near tangible. 

Olberic freed his wrists and other ankle as he strode over to a small door that would open into one of the palace’s smaller kitchens. Inside were strewn bodies of the staff - all asleep, as Saul had told him. Many of them still held utensils, ingredients, washing rags. Their slack appearances were deeply unsettling. 

The cooking fires were stamped out, at least. Olberic pushed on.

\--

He had only one engagement inside the walls. A lone figure passed by just as he was about to round a corner. He put a hand over their mouth from behind, then used the surprise and his greater size to pin them to the floor. The hilt of a dagger was visible underneath their cloak. Olberic drew it to knock its owner cold with the pommel, uncaring of how much force he put into the blow.

Other than the guards at their posts and servants who had been running errands, the hallways were deserted. Saul should have been able to reach the palace entrance by now to alert his comrades of Olberic’s escape, yet no one came to confront him. 

Olberic was able to reach the throne room within minutes despite taking a lesser-known route to it. He had spent much of his life securing the palace. Few people alive knew it better than him. 

King Alfred sat slumped on the throne, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his furrowed brow. Someone had arranged his and his guards’ limbs so that they lay neatly, as if they had willingly settled down to take a nap. 

A door to the side led to the research area. Olberic took the passageway down three steps at a time. The antechamber was filled with piles of tomes and research instruments removed from the next room, its air suffocated by the smell of sulfur and ozone. 

He forced open the door and froze, unable to process what he saw. 

All the furniture had been pushed to one side and the walls stripped of decoration. Cyrus was kneeled in the center of a circle that spanned half the room. It was inscribed with shapes and runes carved directly into the stone. Erhardt sat cross-legged on the floor next to him. He looked unchanged except that his hair, what used to be such a point of pride, was grayer and cut to the shoulders. 

“My friend,” Erhardt said. “It has been a while.”

The conflict eight years ago had changed something in Erhardt. Olberic had not believed the rumors at first of his brother-in-arms abandoning his post by their liege’s side in the presence of danger. When confronted, Erhardt affirmed the rumors: after Olberic had taken his men to scout an area (where they would shortly be ambushed), their convoy was beset by sellswords. But a stray arrow tipped with flames had caught a nearby village in the crossfire, and he had run to aid the villagers before the attack was rebuffed. King Alfred gave his orders to help as soon as it was reasonable, but the men’s faith in Erhardt’s command was shaken. 

Reports on the brief but bloody struggle found that it was, in part, due to rebellious sentiments on Hornburg’s outskirts fanned by foreign agents seeking to weaken the city-state. Olberic joined in the efforts to mend relations between the crown and people. His deeper involvement in the court’s diplomatic efforts gradually extended to other territories within Hornburg’s city-state, then beyond to outside powers. He was no politician, but he found other ways to help keep the peace. The fruits were more than worth the frequent frustration. 

Meanwhile, Erhardt had withdrawn into himself. Their liege sought no explanation for his actions, but that day seemed to haunt him. When Olberic asked why, Erhardt had replied he would speak in due time, knowing the other would respect the request for space. 

He soon asked for his knighthood revoked, claiming he no longer felt capable of fulfilling the function. King Alfred graciously granted a temporary reprieve from duties and Erhardt left Hornburg on a journey to reorient himself - at least, this was what Olberic had believed for the past six years. 

He would never have imagined Erhardt to hold an axe to Hornburg’s throat. And yet… and yet his posture was more like the damned man’s than the executioner’s. 

“I was just telling the good professor here that his king is a wise one. Giving up a library and a scholar is a fair enough price for the royal family and countless more lives.” Olberic searched desperately for a hint of regret or strain in Erhardt’s voice. “His colleagues seem to think highly of him too. This ritual needs a high caliber caster, and the headmaster was happy to point him out.” 

“Erhardt,” Olberic heard himself say. “Explain yourself.”

At the sound of his voice, Cyrus turned and stumbled upright to face Olberic. He took a swaying, exhausted step forward. The sleeve of his right arm was soaked red. The days-old wound had been reopened to let blood into a bowl at his feet. A stained chisel thrown to the floor had been used to deepen the cut.

“Ol-” Cyrus shuddered to a halt as if something had seized his body with the sound. Erhardt brought him to kneel again by the chain of his fettered wrists, though not unkindly. “ _O great Galdera_ -”

The words were slow and agonized and impossible to stop. Red light began to pour into the channels at the circle’s border, advancing inward with every syllable.

Erhardt watched Olberic move to pull Cyrus out of the circle. “Do that, and it will kill you both.”

“ _Explain yourself_ ,” Olberic repeated. The other warrior finally rose to his feet. 

“Powerful sorcery, this is,” he said. “A ritual where the caster also serves as sacrifice, along with those put to sleep by the same kind of magic. It will be a quiet, merciful death for Hornburg, Olberic.”

- _abhorred by the Flame._

“For but a moment. It is dedicated to Galdera’s name. There are fates worse than death.” This was too much. “What possesses you, Erhardt?”

“...You remember that battle eight years ago? I arranged for it. Were it not for the fires, I would have cut the king down myself. My life was given to the pursuit of treason.” Erhardt rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and began to walk forward. “I did love you, Olberic. Aye, as much as I could bear. But my love for one man could not outweigh the hatred I held for his kingdom.”

 _To you I offer my soul and my blood._ Cyrus was hunched over onto his elbows, still trying to resist whatever force was compelling him to speak. His cloak’s hood had fallen over his face. Erhardt had backed Olberic to the perimeter of the circle.

“So you pledged yourself to the dark god, of all powers, to try your hand at vengeance again?” 

“Truth be told, I grew glad for that first failure. When I left, I intended to never return to Hornburg. To you. But the gods have long made it clear that my oaths are worth nothing to them. As for Galdera: I do not follow him, but I am not my own man anymore. I suspect I never was.” Erhardt held his sword so that it’s tip rested against Olberic’s chest. “Draw your blade, Olberic. We can end this now.”

Eight years ago, he would have raged at Erhardt. But Olberic was older and more wearied now, so his heart ached with sorrow too. There was no time, no other option. “So be it.”

_With my humble sacrifice, we beseech your return._

Once, Olberic and Erhardt had been equals on the battlefield. They had never been this unevenly matched when sparring. Erhardt issued the challenge but his swings lacked his former power and conviction, while Olberic fought with the desperation to protect what was threatened - and the faint hope that with victory, perhaps he could demand the full truth from the other. No matter how terrible. Blow by blow, he drove Erhardt towards the far wall of the room. 

_Grant us your power and your_ presen- 

A choked cry distracted him. Blood was pooling from Cyrus’s mouth and he began to heave wordlessly. It dawned with horror on Olberic that what he thought was sobbing in his nightmares was the sound of Cyrus trying to bite off his own tongue. 

He saw the scholar reach for the chisel before he felt steel at his throat. Erhardt’s gaze was resigned. He did not want to fight Olberic, but he was no more able to refuse this madness than Cyrus was. _We can end this now_ , he had said. Not a challenge, but a plea. 

Olberic met no resistance as he pushed aside Erhardt’s sword with a hand. They clashed again, but this time Olberic aimed to disarm. He and Erhardt each had suffered several cuts to the arms and torso. Along with the heat and the thick air, it meant they would not be able to duel for much longer. 

When Erhardt’s sword clattered to the floor, Olberic sheathed his own to pick it up. He ran to where Cyrus was attempting to gouge out a rune near the bowl of blood and drove the blade into it over and over until it was nothing but scarred rock. Whatever power it had held, destroying it seemed to quench the circle’s light and release the scholar from its center. 

Cyrus pointed him to another nearby symbol with badly shaking hands. Olberic took a moment to free him of his fetters. They progressed across the floor as Cyrus located certain symbols and connecting lines to destroy, leaning against Olberic with one hand kept over his mouth. Erhardt had not moved since he was disarmed, and watched them like a sentinal from beyond the circle. 

He and Cyrus collapsed instantly upon the killing of a final rune. Olberic was able to catch Cyrus as he fell and carried him to where the other warrior lay. Already, the room was beginning to drain of the smell of sulfur. 

Olberic prayed the ordeal was over now, that all would be normal again when he woke. He sat against the wall next to Cyrus and fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to look up something for this chapter from the game and ended up adding 10 more hours to my playtime lol! Scary...  
> We're almost at the end. Thanks so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Olberic balances the tea tray carefully in one hand before knocking. It is piled with breakfast foods in the S’warkiian tradition. He knows Erhardt will not come close to finishing it, but H’aanit has no qualms about repurposing the leftovers so long as the uneaten food is intact. 

He hears a muted “enter” and opens the door. Erhardt is sitting on the bed, a traveling bag at his feet. His hair is tied back with what looks like one of Cyrus’s hair ribbons. 

Olberic sets the tray on the writing desk and takes a seat on its chair. He watches as Erhardt finishes scanning the piece of parchment he is holding. Despite being under constant supervision by the king’s guards, he looks healthier (and perhaps less haunted too) now than he had twelve days ago. 

“The king’s verdict?” 

“Just as he said. Charged with conspiracy and attempted treason against the crown. Should I dedicate myself to tracking down my fellow conspirators, he will pardon my actions and allow me back into Hornburg’s service if I wish to return.” Erhardt’s expression is bittersweet. “Far too generous, isn’t it?” 

The king’s leniency will be unpopular with the public. Olberic himself is surprised, but he knows the decision was carefully considered. He had been there when Erhardt confessed everything to King Alfred in a private hearing - his past, the anger that kept him alive but blind through his youth, his misgivings with the strange brutality of his secret affiliations while desperate for company sympathetic to his cause. The same company would force Erhardt back into its crusade against Hornburg even after the fight had left him, as Saul and his colleagues testified to. 

“The king intends to keep you as a knight in all but title. He sees that the labor without the accolade is punishment enough, given that he was not without fault for your anger.” Olberic smiles and motions to the food. “Since you leave today, all the more reason to indulge.” 

Erhardt pulls a second chair over. Olberic idly wonders how different things would be if the other did succeed in commiting regicide eight years ago. Would Hornburg have survived? What would he be without it? Certainly not as forgiving. But these were thoughts best left for another time. 

“I head for the Sunlands with Lady Azelhart and her huntress. They know the lay of the land far better than I do, and the people there as well,” Erhardt says. H’aanit had mentioned the same when she knocked on Olberic’s door early that morning. They may not be old acquaintances, but it comforts Olberic to know she and Primrose will be with Erhardt. That he will not be journeying alone with his thoughts. 

“You will return?” 

“To Hornburg, eventually. But not to its service.” 

“That is enough for me.” Olberic sees plainly the emotions in Erhardt’s eyes at his words. And as much as he would like to, they are not for him to help resolve.

They make arrangements to meet again in Marsalim, where Olberic will be visiting in a few months on a mission. There is not much else to say that hadn’t been said over the past week. When it is near time for him to depart, Erhardt unties his hair and holds the ribbon out to Olberic. “You should return this to Cyrus. I’ve taken advantage of the man enough as is.”

Olberic smiles again. “It is yours to keep. I have something for you too.”

Erhardt takes the journal Olberic gives him with some bemusement. It is light and sturdy, suited for travel. 

“Writing is not just for the sentimental. Use it as you see fit,” Olberic says, pulling Erhardt in. “I only ask that it reminds you that you are not without listening ears.”

“Aye, but this is a surprise,” Erhardt laughs quietly into the embrace. “The years do change us. I’ll be off, then.”

\--

Olberic stops by the kitchens one more time, this time to pick up plum tea. He walks to a private reading room overlooking the northward gardens. King Alfred had granted Cyrus free reign of the palace, meaning he spends all his daylight hours there or in the library. Olberic is sure that once he has the energy, Cyrus will petition the king for access to _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ , which had been recovered from the underground chamber a few days ago.

At the moment, Cyrus is asleep on the couch with a tome still open in his arms. Olberic is glad to see that he had remembered to change the dressings on his right arm. He peeks at the letter on the writing desk, addressed with a shaky hand to the royal family of Atlasdam but otherwise blank. It is rare that Cyrus flounders for words, but his relationship with his birthplace is now complicated enough to give anyone pause. 

Today marks the scholar’s sixth day conscious again. A combination of blood loss, shock, and spirit drain means that Cyrus will be chronically fatigued over the next weeks. He still has his tongue, but it is damaged enough that it will take additional months for eating and talking to stop being painful. All concerning, but nothing unexpected. Cyrus struggles more with the frustration of being unable to speak or write freely than the physical pain. 

Olberic sets the tray down and gently lifts the other’s legs so he can settle them on his lap. This way, they can both fit on the small couch. He props an elbow on the armrest and watches Cyrus slowly stir awake. The windows of this room are tall; the light cradles everything in a pale and warm glow. 

He hears a mumble that sounds like a greeting. “Good almost afternoon,” Olberic says back. He gets a sleepy smile in return. 

“Erhardt appreciated the gift,” he continues. “Thank you for the idea. I told him he could keep your spare ribbon as well.” 

Cyrus nods, then sits upright. He reaches up to cup the side of Olberic’s face with a hand and clears his throat to speak. “This healed well.” He thumbs the thin scar line left from Saul’s dagger playfully. “Looks a bit roguish, too.”

Olberic laughs. He kisses Cyrus across his face until he is laughing too, before drawing back to give him a chance to breathe. Cyrus shifts until he can rest his head comfortably in the crook of Olberic’s neck and Olberic is able to drape an arm around his waist. He is drifting off again within minutes. 

Olberic is aware of how he seeks solace in routine after periods of intense stress (like water around a jut of rock, Erhardt had once remarked). True to form, he had wasted little time re-assuming his afternoon duties to the crown despite the palace physician advising him to do otherwise. Unlike other times, though, he does take the advice in part by spending his mornings and evenings with Cyrus and his recovery instead. There are questions concerning the events of the past month that are yet to be addressed, but until Cyrus is fully himself again, Olberic is content to take things day by day.

He talks about nothing in particular in a low, steady voice, as his father had done for him during a childhood illness. Olberic does not know if it soothes Cyrus in the same way, but he will have ample time to ask later. Perhaps on their nightly walk through the gardens...

For now, they stay curled together under the late autumn sun. Just for a little while longer, until he is called away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that.  
> Thank you again (from the bottom of my heart!) for your interest in this story. I don't consider myself a writer so any and all encouragement meant the world! I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed working on it! Happy travels!


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